


Not Alone

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [130]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Talking, attempted self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host and Silver talk some things out together.
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier
Series: The Ego Manor [130]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1166384
Comments: 22
Kudos: 201





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> * W A R N I N G *  
> Please look at the tags, people! Self-harm, suicide, suicidal thoughts, eating disorders, all of that _pleasant_ stuff is discussed in this story!

Silver sat on his bed, staring at the underside of his arms with…an almost _empty_ feeling in his chest. The sun was setting outside, the golden light hitting him _just_ right and making his skin _glow_ as he traced two, trembling fingers down the fresh, angry red scar that trailed down nearly the length of his forearm. The bumpiness of his skin, the endless ridges of not just _that_ scar, made him swallow harshly, a sick feeling pooling in his gut.

It was that tingling feeling. That same itch that caused his panicked relapse, crawling along his skin. It was…hard to explain. ‘Itch’ wasn’t the right word, it wasn’t _on_ his skin, it was _in_ it, buried beneath, like little spiders trying to escape. It was like…it was like his body was _screaming_ at him to hurt himself, to take something – _anything_ – sharp to his skin and just _free it_. It was like his very blood itself was rebelling. And it was _uncomfortable_.

Silver’s arm twitched, a full-body shudder running through him as he continued to shakily draw his fingers down his newest scar. Even if he _had_ the willpower to obey his urges, he didn’t have access to anything sharp – he wasn’t allowed within a three foot radius of the knife drawer without someone in arm’s reach, and all his razor’s had been confiscated, he had to ask Dr. Iplier to help him. Which was…embarrassing, and inconvenient, but he understood. It was necessary. He got that.

But the itch just grew _worse_. The longer it went ignored, the more prominent and _insistent_ it became. It wasn’t there all the time; it came in more waves than anything, brief flashes of discomfort, but those flashes were growing more frequent and intense, bringing tears to his eyes more often than not. It… _hurt_. It hurt, and he had no way to stop it.

Silver’s arm spasmed again, and almost reflexively he dug his nails into his skin in a desperate attempt to _stop_ it. And, to his surprise, the itch subsided, if only in the places where his nails dug in. Almost experimentally, his breath hitching and a few tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, he dragged his nails up the length of his arm, from his wrist to his elbow. His hand grew just that tiny bit more unsteady every time his nails caught on a scar, but it was overshadowed by _relief_ as the itch gave way to feeling that was…almost _cold_ in his nails’ wake.

He swallowed harshly as the cold faded quickly into something that almost _burned_ , his skin feeling hot and borderline feverish where the angry red trails caused by his nails lay. The itch returned, and again Silver, dragged his nails across his arm, this time in the opposite direction. And again, and again, and again and again and –

His hand stilled, head shooting up when there was a knock on his door. He scrambled to his feet, desperately wiping at his eyes to try and rid himself of tears, but before he could answer the door, the Host came barging in, a panicked expression on his face. He kicked the door closed behind him, coat whipping around his legs as he stalked toward Silver. Silver started, tripping over his bed in an effort to stumble back and ended up sitting back down again as the Host grabbed his wrist, forcing him to bear his forearm and the feverish lines he’d created. He laid his hand over Silver’s arm, running it down the length of his forearm, brow furrowed, before he sighed in relief, letting go of his wrist and sitting on the bed beside him. “Good. The Host got here in time.”

Silver blinked, scooting away from him a bit and holding his arm close to his chest. “I – what – Host – what are you talking about?”

The Host tilted his head, his bandages a bit dark in places where he hadn’t quite bled through. “The Host had a vision of Silver hurting himself. The Host…couldn’t prevent the last few times, and he is thankful he was able to get to Silver in time.” He split in a rueful little smile. “The egos did not consider Silver’s nails an option.”

Silver paled, suddenly refusing to look at the Host and instead focusing on his arm. He winced at the sight of his red skin, almost making his scars stand out more harshly. He fidgeted his hands, shifting a bit farther away from the Host. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even realize until you…I’m sorry.”

The Host reached out a hand, faltering when Silver flinched, but laid it over Silver’s own hand all the same, squeezing it tightly. “It’s alright. There is no need to apologize. The Host is perfectly aware of what Silver is going through and what he was feeling.”

Silver shot him a glance. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Visions. I know.”

Something in the Host’s expression shifted. “That is not what the Host was referring to.”

Silver’s brow furrowed, tensing as he turned to face the Host. “…Then what _were_ you…huh?”

The Host gave a soft, sad little smile. “The Silver Shepherd is not the first ego in this house to go through and experience what he has. Once upon a time, the Host was _very_ suicidal and depressed.”

Silver’s jaw dropped, and he unconsciously squeezed the Host’s hand. “Wait, you… _what?!_ ”

The Host tilted his head again, little smile still in place. “The Host did not exactly have the easiest beginnings. He was _very_ unstable. Though Dr. Iplier might say ‘unstable’ is an understatement. In the beginning…the Author’s actions did not exactly give the Host a high opinion of himself. In his month-long transition into the Host, he…he refused to even eat on most days, unless Dr. Iplier was watching him. He…didn’t feel like he deserved it.”

Silver flinched. “That’s…that’s _awful_.” He swallowed, glancing at his own arm again. “Did you…did you ever uh…” Hesitantly, he shifted the Host’s hand from his own to his arm, covering his scars.

The Host squeezed his arms, gently rubbing one scar with his thumb. “No. The Host didn’t have that as an option, not with his hemophilia. But the Host certainly _thought_ of it. He… _daydreamed_. Taking a blade to his skin meant something _very_ different to the Host back then.”

Silver’s eyes went wide. “You…weren’t kidding, you…you were really suicidal?”

The Host drew a shaky breath, and nodded slowly. It was then that Silver noticed his hand was trembling on his arm. “Yes. The Host wanted to, he really, _really_ wanted to some days, but…” He sucked in a harsh breath, withdrawing his hand from Silver. “Well, the Host had his own outlet.” He mumbled under his breath, and suddenly he was holding a black, run-down notebook, blood easily visible staining a good portion of the pages.

Silver was unable to stop his snort. “I could’ve figured you wrote.”

The Host chuckled, holding the notebook in both hands and thumbing through the pages. “Yes well, Dr. Iplier found the Host’s notebook. A few months back. Exactly a month after Silver’s first… _episode_. It…wasn’t exactly an easy conversation.”

Silver paled. “You mean…he didn’t know? But I thought he took care of you in those days. From what I’ve heard King say, Dr. Iplier never left his office.”

The Host shrugged. “That’s true, for the first week or so. But then Dr. Iplier got his job at the hospital, and the Host was left alone for most of the day. Just…left to think and hurt and sob. He knew Dr. Iplier was reluctant to leave him, but he had no choice. And the Host was equally reluctant to be more of a burden than he already viewed himself to be. So he kept his mouth shut. The one secret the Host manages to keep is the one thing he should have told.”

There was silence for a moment, as Silver collected his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “…What helped pull you out of it? Because I mean, you’re obviously better and more stable now, so…what’s your secret?”

The Host’s _immediate_ blush was the only response Silver needed. “Dr. Iplier has always been a constant in the Host’s life. Even the Author, who only knew him for a couple days before the shift began, had a liking for him. When Dr. Iplier kissed the Host for the first time…” His blush deepened. “…The Host finally began to believe that perhaps he was worth all the effort Dr. Iplier put into saving him.”

Silver laughed a little nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “While that is _very_ cute, I doubt I’ll come across that. I’m not really too keen to get back in the dating game, not after the fiasco of my _last_ relationship.”

The Host chuckled. “Perhaps not, but then again, the Host and Silver are two different people. What helped the Host has a great possibility of having little to no effect on Silver. The point the Host is _trying_ to make is –” He placed a hand on Silver’s knee, mumbling something so his notebook disappeared, and he smiled at him “– Silver is not alone. In any sense. He has a family who loves him, who will help him through everything he’s going through. The Host just asks that whenever Silver feels the desire to injure himself, he comes to one of the egos instead of hiding in his room. He doesn’t even have to say anything if he does not wish to, but the Host is certain the mere presence of the others will calm him, if only slightly.”

Silver nodded, silent again. The pause was longer as Silver worked up the courage to ask something, shifting to face the Host more. “Can I…ask you something?”

The Host’s head tilted, brow furrowing. “Of course.”

Silver glanced at the framed photo on his nightstand. His voice was impossibly soft, merely a whisper. “Did you…see it coming?”

The Host visibly went rigid, clearly knowing _exactly_ what he was talking about. He swallowed harshly, head swiveling to face Silver. His voice, too, was soft. “…This is a conversation the Host has been dreading for a _long_ time.”

Silver straightened. “So you _did_.”

The Host opened and closed his mouth once before managing to get sound out. “…Yes.”

Silver’s hands flew to his hair, staring at the floor as his breathing picked up pace. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything, if I could’ve gotten to him before – if I had known – maybe he’d still be here! Why wouldn’t you –” His voice shattered. “Why would you _do_ that to him?! To _me?!_ ”

The Host opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything, just seemed to be… _frozen_. A couple tears rolled down his face, slipping past his bandages and tinted pink. “…The Host has three kinds of visions,” he began, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “One is of the past, to give a different perspective of events or reveal information previously unknown. One is…like a suggestion. Those ones are vague and fuzzy, not solidified. Those are the ones the Host can change, the ones he can influence and shift to fit what he desires more. And others…others are clear. The Host can see every detail, and…no matter what he does, it will always happen.” He reached for Silver’s hand, pulling one from his hair, simply looking for – and providing – comfort. “The vision of Ibis taking his own life is one of the clearest visions the Host has ever experienced. There was nothing the Host could do. Nothing _Silver_ could’ve done. Delay, perhaps, but it always would’ve come to pass.”

Silver shook his head, still gasping and tearing at his hair, trembling violently. “Why wouldn’t you _tell me_ , if I could’ve _delayed_ it that still would’ve been better than –” Silver choked. “I would give _anything_ to spend more time with him.”

The Host’s sad little smile returned. “Would Silver really have enjoyed the time he spent with Ibis knowing he was going to do what he did? Would Silver really rather have had that heavy knowledge tainting his happy memories? Would Silver have been able to bear the knowledge at all, _knowing_ nothing could be done?”

Slowly, Silver’s hand dropped from his hair, his other squeezing the Host’s. “I…I-I guess not.” He glanced at the Host, at his bloodstained bandages. “…How do _you_ do it? Knowing nearly everything that’s going to happen to us and not being able to change it?”

The Host didn’t respond, simply smiled and stood, pulling Silver to his unsteady feet as well. “Come. Silver should allow Dr. Iplier to look at his arm, just in case.”

Silver glanced at his arm, at the red lines that had somehow grown redder, having nearly forgotten the start of their conversation. “Um…I-I’d rather not go out there and spark questions. I know everyone’s worried enough about me as is…”

The Host paused a beat, likely thinking, then shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around Silver. He tilted his head yet again. “Better?”

Silver nodded, pulling the coat tighter around himself as the Host began to pull him out the door and towards Dr. Iplier’s office. It was warm. And smelled oddly of cinnamon underneath the scent of ink and parchment. He burrowed deeper into it. “Yeah. And…thanks. For sharing. And…for giving me options.”

The Host smiled. “It was the Host’s pleasure. He would not mind simply talking again whenever Silver desires. The Host is an easy individual to find.”

Silver laughed, squeezing the Host’s hand. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days, _one of these days_ , you guys will see the words 'Silver-centric' and it'll be for a _happy_ story, I promise! _Poor baby..._  
>  Anyway, Sunday's story is being pushed to Monday! For _two_ stories, one of which is over 20,000 words long! ;)  
> See you then!
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


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